The Journey Home
by she.still.writes
Summary: Agent Brooklyn Kennedy was a lot of things. She was a best friend, an agent for the SSR, and a lover. But one of the most important things she was, was being one of Dr. Armin Zola's most secret experiments. In 1945 she was thought to be dead, KIA right before the war ended. A lesson to be learnt though is that sometimes what's thought to be dead, is never really dead. Bucky/OC.
1. Prologue

**Hello Everyone! This is an original Bucky/OC story that I've been wanting to write for a while. I've had this idea in my head for months, and I couldn't shake it, so here I am writing it. I haven't written in a long while so my skills might be a bit rusty, but I'm trying my best here.**

 **Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing but my OC.**

* * *

 **Prologue**

* * *

 **September 2013**

 **Vorkuta, Russia**

An arrow sliced through the stale air, soaring through the quick-approaching night until it reached its target, piercing through it perfectly. The control pad that lay outside the abandoned factory, now punctured by an arrow, short-circuited and released sparks, and the hum that surrounded the forest-surrounded area disappeared.

Another arrow soared through the air, this time slicing through a rope that held up a small construction platform attached to the steel walls of the compound. The platform groaned, and after a few seconds, fell from three stories, with it bricks and bags of sand. It all exploded into the air, creating cloud of sand and dirt.

From the cloud emerged a coughing Clint Barton, bow in hand. He surveyed his handiwork from where he stood, and gave himself a small, affirmative nod. The sand wouldn't clear for a few hours, stopping anyone from peeking into the factory; not that Clint thought that this was something to necessarily worry about. The factory-like compound was located a few dozen miles from the nearest population, and on top of that has been abandoned for decades.

"We have about two hours before the dust clears," his partner said, walking towards him from the cloud. Natasha Romanoff walked past him, and approached the door Clint was standing next to. They've decided to enter from one of the more conspicuous back doors, knowing it would be easier to get in from there. She knelt down to one knee, and looked at the padlock securing the door. It was nothing special, just a small lock that is often today found on the front doors of suburban houses. She quickly picked the lock, and kicked open the door. She walked in, gun in one hand, and phone in the other.

She looked to her left, and to her surprise, a light switch was attached to the wall. With no hesitation, she flicked it up, and the compound lit up. It looked mouldy, worn down, and there were cobwebs _everywhere_.

 _Well that was easy,_ she thought as she pulled up a 3D-map of the facility. She began walking through various halls, them getting narrower the deeper they went in. Clint silently followed her, assessing any possible threats they could encounter. So far he's found a mind-boggling amount of _zero_.

Natasha suddenly took a left, and started climbing a set of stairs. The soft stomps her legs made as she climbed the stairs sent a thick layer of dust into the air, and started a coughing fit for Clint.

"God, this place is a mess," He wheezed, fanning his hand through the air in attempt not to breathe in the dusty air. "When's the last time someone vacuumed this place?" Him and Natasha reached the top of the stairs, and into another set of hallways. These ones were wider, and the doors were thrown wide-open, not closed as the ones downstairs.

"According to satellite footage, no one's been in this place for over thirty years," Natasha replied. "This used to be some kind of top secret laboratory for HYDRA. SHIELD thinks this was Armin Zola's personal lab." Clint whistled. As they approached an open door, he pulled an arrow from his quiver, and pulled it into his bow. As he passed the door, he pulled the arrow back, ready to fire. Obviously, there was nothing in the room to shoot at, unless rats counted, and he lowered his bow.

"And the CIA, or MI6 didn't raid it already? That's some class-A bullshit." Clint and Natasha passed another room. She looked down at her phone, examining a map, and looked back up. They continued walking down the halls, taking sudden turns, and going through rooms and ending up through more hallways. The layout reminded him of an inescapable maze, and a shiver ran down his back.

Natasha took a sudden right into yet another empty room, and walked straight down until she reached a door. It was made of wood, but the top portion was made of frosted glass. It didn't fit into the compound's setting. In fact, he room itself didn't fit into the cold, laboratory-like compound, Natasha thought. It was like an office, with rows of desks set up, lamps on each desk and papers discarded everywhere. Natasha eyed the door she was in front of, and with a slight wince, kicked it down.

She stepped in, and looked at the space.

It was mostly nude. There was a bland desk in the middle of the room, an office chair behind the desk, and two guest chairs in front of it. There were a few discarded papers on the desk itself, but when Natasha took a closer look, they turned out to be nothing but tax papers. There was a bookshelf to the right of the desk, filled with books, and a lamp in the corner. She looked down at her phone, narrowed her eyes at it, and groaned.

"Apparently this is supposed to be Armin Zola's personal area," She said, slotting her phone back into a pocket on her utility belt. "But we're in a small office. With nothing but tax papers." She groaned again, but continued to look through the desk for anything significant. So far she wasn't coming up with anything.

"How did Fury know about this place?" Clint asked, walking around the room. "If MI6 and the CIA don't even have the intel, how did Fury get it?"

"I didn't ask," Natasha replied. "All I know is that Fury wanted us to check this place out. He suspects Hydra's back."

"What makes him think that?" Clint picked up the papers on the desk, and started reading them.

"Beats me," Natasha replied. She opened drawers, and still came up with nothing. "He never gave me a reason to doubt him, but I don't see it. Nothing hit our radars, it seems like they're really gone."

"Yeah, well not everything is ever like it really seems," Clint muttered, taking a step back from the desk.

He wasn't buying it; there was something off about the room. He couldn't take his eyes off the bookshelf, and slowly approached it. When he got close, he knew he was right. The soft whir of air ventilating was escaping from the right side of the bookshelf. He grinned, and turned to Natasha. She still seemed to be struggling.

"Giving up already?" Clint asked her. "Come on, Tasha. Have you never heard the story of Anne Frank and how she hid from Nazis?" He took the right side of the bookshelf, and pulled. The hidden hinges of the bookshelf-door groaned, but with more pulling they eventually gave in. The bookshelf slid open, and behind it were elevator doors.

"Well this wasn't on the map," She muttered, approaching the silver doors. There was one button next to the doors, and it was an arrow pointing down. Clint pressed it. The doors immediately creaked open, and the lights inside the elevator flickered on.

"Come on," He pressed a hand to her shoulder, and guided her into the elevator. Once they were inside, the doors automatically closed, and the elevator started to move down. The two stood next to each other in silence. The elevator kept moving down for about a minute, until it creaked to a stop. Natasha's hand immediately went to her gun, and Clint's to an arrow as the doors opened.

To both their disappointment, they exited the elevator and entered into a disappointingly ordinary hallway. It was short; maybe only twenty feet long, and only had two doors, one on each side.

"Left or right?" Clint asked. Natasha holstered her gun, and approached the door on her left. Clint approached the one on the right. The lock was fairly simple on this door. He could break it with his bare hands if he wanted to.

He took out a knife, and played with the rusted lock until he heard a satisfying click, and the door opened. He stepped in, and he had a shark intake of breath, his eyes widening at what he saw.

Meanwhile, Natasha was trying to get the lock of the door on the left. It was significantly heavier-duty then Clint's lock. It was bulky, metal, and seemed like the most intensive lock in the whole facility, but still nothing she couldn't break. She couldn't help thinking though that whatever was behind this door, no one was supposed to know about.

She knelt down to the lock, examining it. It was rusted metal; obviously not in it's top shape. Probably steel. She looked down at her utility belt, fingering the multiple tools she carried, and pulled out a small laser-like gadget. He pointed it towards the lock, and turned it on. Within seconds, the whole lock was melted. The door didn't swing open, but with a swift kick, the door flew.

The first thing she noticed when she walked into the room was the drop in temperature. She shivered through her suit, and breathed out puffs of condensed, foggy air.

The next thing she noticed was that the room was completely, save a tall cylindrical … machine stood in the centre. It had a strong hum to it. For a second, Natasha thought it was some kind of jumbo refrigerator.

 _What the hell would they be keeping in here?_ She thought. _Frozen veggies?_

She approached the machine, and took a better look at the room she was in. It was barren, dark, and completely made out of metal. The walls, the ceiling, it all looked to be coated in steel. There was frost on almost the whole surface. She felt bad for anyone who had to be in this room for prolonged periods of time.

Once she moved closer to the machine, she noticed a small part of it that was glass. It was orange, transparent, and seemed to be glowing from the inside. It was frosted, she couldn't see anything.

If Hydra was trying to bring fruits and veggies to life, she called dibs on telling Fury, no matter how much Clint would pay her to let him say it.

She lifted her arm, and tried to wipe and scratch away some of the frost. She tried to take a peek into it again, swearing she would see a few tomatoes and maybe a zucchini, but what she saw made her stomach drop.

"Clint," She called, her voice alarmed. Her eyes didn't move from what she saw in the machine, or rather _who_ she saw, until she heard a pair of familiar footsteps. A few seconds later, he walked into the room; his shoulders tense and bow in hand.

"Tash, I think someone was being kept in there. The other room, the one across the hall, looked like an operating room. There was blood everywhere. The surgeons might have left in a hurry, something happened here. I took pictures and samples of everything I could, so we should be good to go - "

" _Clint,_ " Natasha repeated, her voice slightly wavering this time. She looked back into the machine – the cryogenic chamber - and took a deep breath. "Call Fury. He's going to want to see this."

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 **Leave a nice review!**

 **.writes**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 **Welcome to the beginning of the story.**

* * *

 **Late Spring 1942**

 **Camp Lehigh, New Jersey**

"Come on, cadets!" A woman called, walking towards a huddle of men. Her scarlet lips were pursed; her short victory curls away from her face. "Get in line!" The fifteen men who were previously in a huddle scurried apart and jogged up to her, lining up in a single rank side by side. She stepped in front of them.

Each one of the men had a determined look in their eye. They seemed tough, but she would make them tougher.

For half a minute, she didn't say a word; she just examined them. One of them, a tall and lanky man with dark hair, started to falter under her gaze. She tried not to smirk. She opened her mouth, about to introduce herself, but a voice spoke up before she could.

"What's a pretty dame like you doing out here?" The woman's eyes went to the man. "Don't you think it's a little dangerous?"

The woman's lips pursed, but she looked at him with emotionless eyes. He was tall, almost towering over her 5'6 frame (she would've been 5'3 without her heels, so thank the lord for the boost), but she wasn't intimidated. Instead she just raised an eyebrow.

"What's your name, cadet?" She asked, stepping in front of him. The other men in the ranks eyed her as she talked to the man. She practically oozed of power, but Hunts didn't back down from her, or avoid her eyes.

"Hunts, ma'am," He replied, a smirk growing on his face. He was challenging her.

The woman internally cringed at the look Hunts was giving her. He was looking down at her with a dark, lusty look in his eyes. He looked down at her lips for a split second, and the woman almost lost it.

"Well, _Hunts_ ," she sneered, taking a step back, and crossing her arms. Her brown dress uniform tugged on her shoulders as her arms came across her chest. "I think I'm a _little_ more qualified to be out there than you are right now."

Hunts burst out laughing. He was bending, grabbing his stomach, his mouth open from the laughter pouring out of it. The woman clenched her jaw. She was close to seeing red.

"A dame?" He howled. "In a war? You've got to be kidding me!" His howls stopped him from talking for a while. "You pretty little things should be back at home!" The woman eyed him, a glare developing in her eye, and she uncrossed her arms. Her right fist clenched rightly. Though her nails weren't long, she felt them dig into her palm. She stepped towards him.

"Put your right foot forward, soldier," she said. His howling ceased, turning into snickers and snorts, but he obeyed. Before Hunts knew it was coming, the woman socked him in the jaw, and his laughter abruptly stopped. He fell flat to the ground, clenching his face and groaning.

Some of the cadets in the rank gaped; others snickered under their breath. Hunts' left hand was on the quick-forming bruise on his eye, his eyes clenched shut and teeth clenched in pain. The woman tried not to look smug, but her efforts were futile. A smug smile slowly made it's way to her face. Not so brave and almighty now, was he?

"What are you doing Hunts?" She taunted, bending down to him as he opened his uninjured eye. The smug look on her face didn't disappear as he groaned again, and tried to open his now-swollen eye. "Did I tell you that you can lay down on the ground and sulk like an infant?" Hunts' swollen eye opened with lighting speed, and he scrambled back up to get into the rank.

The men around her were all gaping. The same thought was going through the minds' of all the men: Who was this woman?

Hunts' hand was still on his swollen eye. "No ma'am," he mumbled.

"What's that?" The woman asked, cupping a hand to her ear. "I couldn't hear you." Hunts refused to make eye contact with her. A few of the men around Hunts started to snicker.

"No ma'am," he said again, his voice stronger. A smug smile made it's way onto the woman's face, and she stepped back from the cadet.

"Welcome to Camp Lehigh, cadets," She announced, a grin developing on her face. "All of you are the newest recruits to the 107th Infantry Regiment. I'm Agent Kennedy, the one in charge of your training here. I'm the one who decides if you pass or fail, so don't tick me off." The smiles on the cadets' slowly disappeared as they took her words in. "Welcome to the beginning of the twelve hardest weeks of your life."

* * *

By the end of the first week, her cadets were dead.

Not literally, of course. They just felt like they were. They all swore Agent Kennedy was trying to kill them. Her soldiers were getting it worse than any other troop. They were working harder than everyone else was, and it was not making them happy.

It was the sixth day, and the agent's soldiers were already more sore than they've ever been in their lives.

So far, it was the nicest day that Camp Lehigh has seen all spring. Agent Kennedy stepped out of the car she was in, and leaned against it. In the far distance, she could see her group of men running towards her.

 _Sweaty_ was the first thing that came to her mind when she saw them up close. Their Kelly green tunics were drenched in sweat, their hair so soaked they looked like they just came fresh out of a shower. They were still a distance away, running towards her. Their rucksacks bounced on their backs as their feet pounded on the ground, creating a small tremor in the ground that even the agent felt.

Their trainer began to yell at one of the men at the back who began to slow down.

"Parsley, come on!" He slowed down his jog to be next to the struggling man. "My grandmother runs faster than you!" The soldier, Parsley, seemed to have groaned before setting his eyes on the men in front of him, and picking up his speed to catch up. His chest was heaving, his mouth wide open as he tried to take in some air between steps.

They were about thirty feet away from Agent Kennedy at this point, and she decided that now would be a good time to let them know to slow down. She abandoned the car and stepped into the middle of the road. Her heels dug slightly into the sand with each step, making her put more effort into trying not to fall.

"Damn these heels," she mumbled as she looked down at her heels. She despised the fact that he had to wear them every day with her uniform. The blisters on her feet begged for something more comfortable, but she knew that it was on a blue moon that she would be able to wear any other shoes.

She looked back up to her soldiers as she heard the trainer shout to the soldiers to slow down. The men wordlessly agreed, breathing heavily as they slowed their pace to a slow jog, and then a walk.

Up close, they looked even worse than they did at a distance. Their hairs were matted to their foreheads, particularly a man who's name she learned to be Barnes. He refused to cut off the hair that sat atop his head. He claimed it would 'take away from his charm'. When she heard him say this, her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head. Though it wasn't a bad thing that he cared about his looks, the hair posed problems during training.

"How do you boys feel?" She yelled as the exhausted men lined up before her. She didn't get much of a response other than heavy breathing, some wheezing, and the clattering of rucksacks.

"Come on," she teased. "Running isn't this bad, and it doesn't get any easier from here." She didn't get a response for a few seconds.

"I'm okay," one man finally wheezed. She turned to the voice, and identified the soldier as Barnes. He was bent down, his shaking hands on his knees. His tunic was drenched, his knees beginning to quiver. He let out a loud breath, and straightened his back. He took a few deep, heaving breaths. "Let's do it again."

All of the men started, complaining and calling out Barnes while the agent chuckled.

"Don't get so excited, Barnes. You're not done yet," she told him. "You're still running another mile and a half before you reach your barracks." The men groaned again. Did they not know how to many any sound other than a groan?

The men's packs were all on the ground, their empty rifles carefully lying on top of them. The men were still wheezing, and the agent sighed.

"I'll be nice you ladies, and let you take a break," she said, taking a step closer to them and crossing her arms. "But first, drop your packs and give me fifty!" This time the men didn't groan, and obeyed her. Without a word, they all dropped to the ground, getting into push up position and beginning the fifty.

She was happy that they no longer argued with her. Though they could groan, they would never challenge her. They learnt not to. The last time someone did (and that someone was Hunts), the whole troop ended up doing laps around the barracks in the cold at 0300 hours.

The energy that the men had at the beginning of the push ups quickly disappeared. As she walked between the soldiers, she noticed that most were barely lifting their arms, just bobbing their heads up and down. To her, those were phoney push-ups. Every man that did phoney push-ups got a heel in their back, and a face full of sand as they were forced down into the sandy road.

There were only four men who finished all fifty push-ups, one of them being Barnes.

Over the course of the week, she had learnt to respect him. Of course, she respected other soldiers in her troop, but none of them earned it as much as Barnes did.

Not only was he a good recruit, but as a good person too. He respected her as an agent, and he gave her the same amount of respect as he did to other male agents. And, from what she knew, he never spoke of her in a degrading way behind her back either.

It was sad to say that he was the first man to treat her with this much respect since she arrived at Camp Lehigh a year and a half ago.

She caught up with reality and looked back at all her soldiers. They were all lying on the ground on their stomachs, arms and legs splayed out like a star. The agent walked over to the trainer, who was trying to fan out his tunic. She called his attention to her.

"Give them another five or so minutes to cool down," she told him, and he nodded. "Lead them back to the camp, and tell them to eat lunch and meet me at the firing range at 1300 hours." The man nodded again and saluted. She saluted back, and began to walk back to the car standing on the side of the road.

She climbed into the passenger seat, and looked to the driver.

"My office, please," she told the young man. He replied with a curt 'yes ma'am', and started the car.

An hour later, the agent found herself writing her soldiers' weekly reports at a picnic table outside. She couldn't waste the day writing indoors, not when nice days like these came so scarcely at this time in the season.

She looked down at the reports on the table. This batch of soldiers were much more obedient than her last, so her reports were mostly good. She thanked the lord for that. The other agents around this camp always complained about their men, saying they 'never took them seriously enough', that 'they weren't fit enough', or that they 'never listened'.

One man in particular came to her mind when she thought of those agents. Agent Hobbs, one of her colleagues, hated her just because her soldiers respected her more than his soldiers respected him. And the best part was, his hatred for her was based of the fact that she was a _woman_.

The agent shook her head, getting rid of her thoughts, and continued writing. Her messy penmanship was scribbled all over the paper as she wrote about the soldiers. _Hunts seems as if he knows what he is doing here – he's a soldier who follows orders from those he thinks he should respect. The problem is he does not show respect to those he thinks does_ not _deserve it. The soldier needs to learn how to listen to everyone who have a higher rank them him –_

"I think your hand is going to fall off if you keep writing," a somewhat familiar voice said behind her. Her pen stalled on the paper, looked up from her report to the man behind her. Barnes was standing there, a plate in hand and peeking down at her report.

He wasn't allowed to read their reports, so she quickly shut the folder and capped her pen.

"Shouldn't you be eating lunch with the rest of the trainees?" The agent asked, setting her pen down on the stack of papers. Barnes shrugged, and sat across her. He placed the plate in his hand in front of her. The agent looked down at the plate. On it was a simple sandwich, the same ones that the mess hall made every single day for lunch. She looked back up at Barnes, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Noticed you haven't grabbed anything since lunch started, so I brought a little something," he explained. The agent looked down at the sandwich, and back up at him.

"Your mother raised you well," Agent Kennedy, taking one half of the sandwich from the plate, and raising it towards her mouth. She chewed before swallowing her bite. "Why go out of your way to sneak me a sandwich? I know they only allow one portion a person."

Barnes leaned his elbows on the table. He looked like he was in thought. He also seemed to have changed from his earlier sweaty clothes into another issued Kelly green tunic, an off-white shirt peeking out under it, and trousers. Even from two feet away, the agent could smell the fresh smell of soap coming off from him. At least he showered after their run. She hoped the other men followed his example. The agent wasn't sure she could stand the smell of sweat for anymore than a few seconds, let alone the hours she was supposed to spend with them.

Barnes finally spoke up, and when he did the agent lifted her eyes to his. "You remind me of someone back home."

"I hope it's not a woman," the agent blurted. When she did, she tried to _not_ make it seem like it was an accident. She managed to resist the urge to clap her hand over her mouth. Instead she took another bite of her sandwich, and elaborated. "You're all over the women here." She told him. "I'll even go as far as pin you as a ladies man. I can't imagine what would happen if your woman found out." Barnes burst out laughing, and covered his eyes with his right palm. The agent stared at him as she took another bite. _Did he not think that the nurses talked about him?_ His cluelessness brought a small smile to her face.

"No, no, definitely not a woman," Barnes replied. "My best friend, actually." She raised her eyebrow at him. His best friend? If not a woman, then his best friend would be a man, and how could she remind him of another man? She guessed he noticed the muddled look on her face, and started to explain.

"He's usually underestimated, because of his size. I think he's the same height as you." The agent's eyes widened slightly. Is his best friend a young teenager? She looked at Barnes with a confused look. He didn't seem like the type of man to be friends with someone ten years younger than him.

"He's my age," Barnes continued. "Just with a lot of health issues. He's constantly getting beat up in alleyways by bullies for trying to defend other people. Every time he fights, he always loses, and he says the silliest thing: 'I had him on the ropes.'" Barnes chuckled at himself. "After every fight, he says that he'll try to not get into any more fights. And you know where I find him the next day? In an alleyway fighting." He had a nostalgic smile on his face, and for some reason it made the agent's mouth quirk up in a lopsided smile.

"I don't spend my free time beating up bullies, you know," she told him, finishing off the sandwich. "I have too much paperwork to be doing that." Barnes chuckled again.

"No," he agreed. "Not that I've seen yet. But you're a fighter."

"What?" The agent furrowed her eyebrows.

"You don't take anyone's crap," Barnes elaborated. His eyes suddenly widened and he started stuttering. " Sorry – erhm – I mean – excuse my language," Agent Kennedy had an amused look on her face. Did he think she'd never heard cussing? She lived on the same grounds as Colonel Phillips, she's heard about every cuss word in the English dictionary. Though it was amusing to see Barnes stutter like that in front of her, she stopped him and told him to continue and not worry about cussing in front of her.

"When Hunts talked to you on the first day," Barnes continued, "You punched him down so fast I don't think I saw him fall." The agent smirked. She _did_ have good knuckles for punching.

"Socking him in the jaw was the most fun I'd had in a while," she admitted. And it was true, for the past while didn't have the time to do anything exciting like boxing, running, sparring, or any other physical activity for that matter. All she had time for was paperwork. "Usually men don't talk out of place when I'm around. They may talk smack about me to each other, but never did to my face. When Hunts degraded me as an agent because of my gender, something inside me snapped." Barnes nodded.

"You taught him a good lesson," he told her, leaning his cheeks into his palms. "I think he learned it."

There was a short silence, until Barnes clapped his hands together as if he just remembered something and pointed a finger to her.

"What was that thing you said earlier about me being a 'ladies man'?" The agent looked at him, a surprised look on her face until a grin took over her face. She grabbed her pen from the pile of files, and started playing with it.

"Nurses talk, Barnes," she taunted, pointing the pen at him. Barnes weaved a hand through his hair, and laughed.

"I can't say I'm too surprised about that when I think about it," he admitted. They were grinning and laughing, probably looking stupid to anyone walking by.

She was about to reply when a high-pitched voice called her name.

"Brooklyn!" Her smile stretched as she recognized the voice. Eleanor, a young nurse she befriended when she first started working at Camp Lehigh, was swiftly walking towards her. Her hand was in the air, waving at her as a smile adorned her face.

Agent Kennedy got up and turned to the nurse. She was off duty, today being her one-day off, and she walked to the agent in a loose beige skirt, a white blouse, and a pair of simple brown flats. She was in the process of gathering her files when Barnes spoke up behind her.

"Brooklyn?" Barnes asked. Agent Kennedy turned back to him and nodded, shrugging slightly.

"That's my first name, why?" she asked. He shook his head and beamed, crossing his arms.

"That's where I'm from," he replied, the smile still on his face.

"That's where my mother's from too," the agent replied.

"Brooklyn!" Eleanor was close, only a few steps from her. Her hair was styled nicely, curls running down mid-back, different from how she normally slicked it back.

She slowed her walk, and stopped when she was right behind the agent. She was tall, and the fact that Brooklyn was sitting down was not making her feel any taller next to her. The agent looked up at the nurse, expecting her to be looking down at her, but she realized she wasn't even looking in her direction. Instead, she was looking at Barnes. Brooklyn turned back to Barnes, and looked in between them. She smiled slightly.

"I would introduce you two, but it seems you two already know each other," Brooklyn teased. Eleanor blushed, and looked down at her feet, and Barnes turned away from Brooklyn's teasing eye and looked back to Eleanor.

"Eleanor," he greeted, tipping his head slightly and smiling at her.

"Bucky," she replied, giggling. Brooklyn looked back and forth from Eleanor to Barnes, and shook her head, smiling softly. Barnes was smiling wide. She noticed how it was lopsided, and he had dimples. Brooklyn guessed _this_ was the smile that women fall for him.

Brooklyn looked back to Eleanor, who seemed to be more flustered than when she first arrived.

"Anyways," Brooklyn said, looking down at her watch. "Barnes you have twenty minutes until you need to be formed up." She stood up, and gathered her files, putting them against her chest.

She turned back to Barnes as she started to step away, and pointed her free finger at him. "Be late, and I'll make you do PT instead of letting you fire the rifle you're learning how to shoot."

* * *

From that point on, once a week while Brooklyn was writing her reports, Barnes would come and join her, sandwich in hand. She would eat the sandwich, and they would talk about things that didn't involve the war raging across the ocean.

Among a multitude of different things Brooklyn learnt about Barnes, a few notable things were that he was the eldest child of the family, and he had a little sister. Her name was Rebecca, and she was six years younger than him. His best friend, whom she reminded him of, was named Steve Rogers. The two went to school together, but only became best friends when Barnes saved him from two bullies who were trying to steal Steve's lunch money.

She also learnt that he had a good sense of humour, and could make conversation practically out of anything. And though he was what Brooklyn considered a 'ladies man', he respected women. He admitted that he played around a bit, but never tried to lead the girl on if after the first date if he felt that he wasn't the one, and he never forced them to do anything they didn't want to do.

From what Brooklyn could see at camp, she knew she could believe him. Him and Eleanor didn't work out that well, with her needing to leave overseas and him not feeling that she was _the one_. He didn't lead her on after he felt that she wasn't what he wanted, and from what Eleanor told her, he never even kissed her.

After their fourth lunch together, Brooklyn began to really consider Barnes as more than her recruit, but more of a friend. She didn't have many friends at this camp, she was pretty sure she could count them all on one hand. Most of them she'd left back home.

Barnes and Brooklyn didn't talk a lot outside their weekly lunches. They didn't even call each other by their first names. She still called him Barnes, and he still called her a mix of ma'am and agent.

"Come on, Barnes," Brooklyn motioned to him as she got up. The sun was shining today. It was the beginning of May, and the end of the fifth week of training.

Brooklyn capped her pen and placed it on the pile of files laid out on the table. She straightened her dress jacket, and fixed her short curls so they seems a bit less frizzy. "You have twenty minutes until you have to be formed up." She picked up her files, and cradled them to her chest as she always did. "You're practising hand-to-hand today, so be ready."

"Sounds exciting," he replied, getting up with her. He brushed a hand through his hair, and straightened out his shirt. In the five weeks Barnes had been here, she noticed a difference in his physique. His shoulders broadened, and his arms became bigger and more toned. He looked healthier than he did when he first arrived at Camp Lehigh. She hated to admit it to herself, but he was attractive.

"Gather everyone else and get to the field," she told him. "I've decided you'll be practising outside since the weather is on our side today." He nodded, and a smile appeared on his face.

"See you in a bit, ma'am," he told her, tipping his head slightly. She smiled back at him.

"Try not to get hit too hard, Barnes," she told him. "I heard that ladies don't like black eyes!" She turned back away from him, and started walking away. She heard him laugh behind her. She even let out a laugh herself, and continued her walk towards her office.

Brooklyn took her time getting there. Her mind didn't wander to Barnes; thank the lord, but instead to the upcoming training. Hand-to-hand combat was her favourite part of the basic training curriculum. Though she wasn't ever going to admit it out loud, she was excited to see her soldiers get smashed into the ground. Up to this day, every single hand-to-hand training session her soldiers had she had to miss. It was either Phillips breathing down her neck, or the paperwork she had to complete, she's always had to miss it. But, today was the day she was finally going to see how they were doing.

As she walked into her office to put down the folders, a private came running in and calling her name.

"Agent Kennedy!" He called, coming up to her. He was breathing heavily, his dress uniform looking slightly dishevelled. Had he run all the way from across camp? She turned to him, and crossed her arms.

"Yes private?" She asked, leaning back on her table. He exhaled one last breath, and straightened his tie.

"Colonel Phillips told me to tell you that you need to teach the hand-to-hand to your troop, right now." Brooklyn's eyes widened, and her heart skipped a beat. She had to teach it? Her mind was racing, and she hoped that she seemed calm and controlled on the outside.

"Excuse me?" She asked, her voice laced with confusion. Her mind went to the current trainer teaching them. "What's wrong with Ernest?"

"Ernest came down with a bad case of the flu. He's in no condition to fight." Brooklyn sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She took her weight off the table and stood on her own feet.

"And what does Colonel Phillips have to do with this?" she asked, looking up at the private. He shrugged slightly.

"He just told me to tell you that you need to teach today," he told her. "I'm guessing Ernest told him he was sick, and so he delegated you to the job." Brooklyn sighed. If Phillips told _her_ to each it, there really must be no one else able to teach it.

"And are you sure that you can't find anyone else?" The private shook his head.

"I've scoured the whole camp. Everyone's either busy, or doesn't know the skills well enough to teach them." Brooklyn sighed. How did that make sense? A whole camp filled with perfectly capable agents, and _she_ was the one who needed to teach.

"Very well," she sighed. "But tell Colonel Phillips I'll be having a talk with him later about the staff on this campground." Her voice was stern, and the private visibly gulped and nodded. He saluted at her before rushing out of the office.

Brooklyn closed her eyes and muttered a string of words that no lady should be saying before looking down at her clothes. She would have to change out of her heels and skirt, there was no way she would teach a group full of men to fight with her skirt threatening to fly up.

She walked out of her office, and into the direction of the female barracks. She looked down at her watch. Eight minutes until she had to be at the field. As Brooklyn walked, she began to contemplate what was going to happen. She loved hand-to-hand, her father had taught her to fight back at home when she was younger. Though she didn't like it much at first, she learned to love the thrill of the fight. On top of the skills taught in the family, she completed the training needed to get the rank of Agent, and developed more even skills. She had gotten very good at it, and excelled everyone at this camp.

Deep down, Brooklyn knew she was the best person to ask to teach, but she really did not want to do this. She hated showing off what she can do. She hated _needing_ use these skills.

As she walked, Brooklyn looked at her watch. Seven minutes until she had to be formed up. She was going to be late if she walked at this pace. She could barely speed walk in her heels, let alone run, so she eventually she gave up and threw off her shoes. Holding them in her hand, she began to run to her barrack. It felt refreshing to run again, to feel her toes dig into the hardened sand, even if through her stockings. Her lungs didn't ache as her feet pounded on the hard ground. Her heart rate barely picked up. She was in very good shape, even if she hasn't done PT for what's been five weeks, and she felt _good_.

It took her two minutes to get to her door. She jogged up the steps, and slammed open the door. Her chest was heaving and her hair was dishevelled as she ran to her bed at the far end of the room. She threw her heels down beside the foot of her bed and heard them clatter on the wooden floors as she opened her wardrobe.

Her hands rummaged through the small wooden closet, eventually pulling out a pair of brown trousers and an off-white t-shirt that was given to her when she first arrived at the camp. It read 'Camp Lehigh' on the back.

She slid her dress uniform off, her fingers fumbling as she tried to hang it back onto its hanger. Eventually she succeeded, and hung it up before turning away from the wardrobe and shoving the more comfortable clothing on. Brooklyn didn't think she'd ever had to get ready this fast. She quickly looked down at her watch. One minute until she had to be on the field.

Once her clothes were on, she took a deep breath. They were much more comfortable than her dress uniform; she'd have to talk to Phillips about letting her wear this every day. Brooklyn tucked her shirt into her pants, slid a thin belt into the waistband, and trudged on a pair of combat boots. She hadn't worn them in a while, and she forgot how much time it took to fully lace them up. It was a pain.

She looked at her watch. She was already a minute late.

She tied the last lace, jumped up from her bed, shut her wardrobe doors closed, and ran out of the barracks. She heard the front door slam behind her as her feet pounded down the wooden steps, and onto the sandy road. She was almost sprinting. As she ran she heard a series of catcalls, most likely from the recruits that arrived a few days ago. She had to physically stop herself from rolling her eyes as she ran.

As her boots collided with the beaten-down roads, Brooklyn lifted her wrist to look down at her watch. She was three minutes late. She's never been this late, and she still had at least two minutes of more running until she reached her destination.

Letting out a loud exhale of breath, she picked up her pace. Brooklyn's heart pounded in her chest as she ran down the streets. She passed cars and men doing drill. Some privates and agents saluted her as she ran, but she didn't spare the time or the effort to salute back.

Brooklyn was keenly aware that her carefully-styled hair was now ruined. The short curls that usually framed her face must've been frizzy and tangled, the roots wet with perspiration. Her scarlet lipstick was probably mostly wiped off. The only thing she really had left on her face was her powder and a small bit of eye makeup.

She could see the field in the distance now, and she slowed down her pace a bit. As she jogged, her breathing slowed down, and she caught her breath. She tried to compose herself a bit as she stepped closer to the soldiers standing out on the field.

Brooklyn was a few steps away from her men when she spoke up. "Sorry I'm late," she told them, taking a few deep breaths in to attempt to bring down her heart to a normal rate. "I had to change." She put her hands over her hair, trying to smooth it down.

"Where's our trainer?" One of her men asked. She turned to the man, and found it was Jones who spoke. She looked to him, and pointed to herself.

"She's standing right here," she told him. Jones' eyebrows raised so much they almost touched his hairline.

"You?" he asked. Brooklyn nodded.

"Are you doubting me?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I thought I taught you all to not when I socked Hunts so hard he sulked." Jones didn't crack, but the rest of the soldiers did. From the corner of her eye she saw Hunts' face go beet red. Whether it was from embarrassment or anger she didn't know.

"Are you sure you can fight us?" Hunts asked. She looked to him. His face was a little less red now, and he had a daring look in his eye. She returned the look. This was the first time he's spoken directly to her without being asked to since the first day. "We've all easily got at _least_ fifty pounds on you." Brooklyn snorted.

She forgot she's never been present for the hand-to-hand training. They've never seen her fight.

"I've brought down men heavier than you, Hunts," she told him. She uncrossed her arms. "Now come on, I didn't come here to argue with you about whether or not I can bring you down."

"We're wasting daylight with you here teaching us," Hunts said, his voice almost sneering. Brooklyn's eye twitched, her fist clenched, and she almost _growled_. She wasn't too surprised at her reaction, but she never growled before. Ladies don't growl.

Before she could sneer something back at Hunts, Barnes spoke up.

"Well I'm sure that if she's standing here about to train us, she can teach us," Barnes said, crossing his arms. Hunts rolled his eyes.

"Defending your dame's honour, Barnes?" He asked. Two of the men whom Brooklyn knew were Hunts' closer friends snickered. Barnes' eyes went hard, and his fists clenched. The same thing happened to Brooklyn. She wasn't _anyone's_ dame. She was an agent of the SSR. She was a successful woman. She was a daughter, a sister, and a best friend. Not anyone's _dame_. Before Barnes could open his mouth, Brooklyn spoke up, a glare in her eyes.

"I'm not anyone's _dame_ , Hunts," she told him, her voice strong. She took a step closer to him, and she saw him gulp. "I want you to remember whom you're speaking to." She took another step towards him.

"If you think I'm going to fight a woman, then you're wrong." Hunts replied almost immediately. She noticed his right leg twitched, as if he was about to take a step back. He didn't though. He crossed his arms and stood strong.

"Are you scared that I'm going to beat you Hunts?" Brooklyn taunted. "Are you scared that a _woman_ will knock you down?" Hunts' jaw clenched. "If I did, it wouldn't be the first time." Her teasing was getting to him, but he still stood tall and didn't move.

"I have morals, ma'am. And hitting a woman is not one of them."

"Well then don't imagine me as a woman. Fight me as if you're fighting a Nazi." He narrowed his eyes at her and then looked her up and down. Brooklyn noticed his eyes darken. She had an idea of what he was going to say next. Her fists clenched tighter, and she felt the biting pain of her fingernails biting into her palms.

"It's going to be hard to not imagine you as a woman, ma'am." Some of the men gaped at Hunts bluntness. Brooklyn took a deep breath in, trying to calm herself, and dug her heels into the soft dirt that was under the short-clipped grass. She took another deep breath, and unclenched her fists.

"What if you're forced to fight against a female Nazi?" She asked, her voice very calm. "Are you not going to fight her because she's a woman?" Hunts and the other men looked at her. She eyed them.

"The Germans don't bring women into the fight," Hunts grumbled. The way he said it, she knew he thought she was right, but his pride wasn't letting him agree with her. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"As a matter of fact, they do, and if you run into them are you going to let her kill you because you're not willing to fight?" Brooklyn took a step towards Hunts, and crossed her arms. "You're going to die in an instant out there if you think like that." The men didn't say anything, and there was a moment of silence.

"If I ask you to spar with me I am doing it for your benefit," she started. "I don't like teaching for this very reason. But, I'm the best one in this camp, and if you don't believe me then you can ask any of the other trainers. They'll agree if their pride will let them. I've beat them all." The men looked at her, their eyes becoming wider and wider with each second. She bet they didn't expect her to say _that_. Even Barnes looked surprised.

"If you don't want me to teach you then you can bring it up with Colonel Phillips." There was another moment of silence.

"If you're so amazing then why aren't you a trainer?" Jones asked, his voice judging.

"Because that's below my pay grade," Brooklyn replied, shrugging. "I'm an agent, quite a few ranks above you. Keep that in mind." Another silence. She decided to speak up again.

"When I ask you to fight so you can learn how _not_ to die, you will listen to me and fight. I don't care what your morals are, because when you're out there in Europe morals don't exist. You show a shred of mercy and you will be pumped full with lead." The men were speechless. "The Nazis aren't known for their compassion. And if they aren't then should you be? They might pull the most surprising move on you, and you have to be controlled enough to think through it and get through it. Having female soldiers may be one of their moves." She looked at her men. They were silent, their eyes avoiding hers. "If you _really_ have a problem with fighting me, then I can dismiss you from this camp right now and you'll be sent home. Am I understood?" The men all nodded. They were speechless. She eyed each one of them, more-so Hunts than the others, but he avoided her glance and was playing with his fingers.

Brooklyn pursed her lips, closed her eyes and cracked her neck. The cracking sound resounded around her and the soldiers.

"Okay," she started, rolling her shoulders. "Now that that whole ordeal is over with, let's start today's lesson. I don't know how Ernest usually does this, so we're going to do it my way." The men nodded in agreement. They didn't argue with her now.

"Good. Everyone, find a partner. One by one you'll spar, and I'll assess you. Odd one out will have to find a volunteer who's willing to spar twice." The men scurried around in attempt to find a partner, and within a minute, seven pairs and one group of three were in front of her. She pointed to the pair on her very left, and motioned for them to come forward. It was Barnes and Jones.

She smiled, and knew this was about to get interesting. Barnes had told her about all the fights that he got into to save Steve, and she had a feeling that Jones was going to be on the ground very soon. She looked to Barnes, and he smirked at her. She winked back.

"Now remember," she started, looking from Jones to Barnes. "In a fight there are no rules. Because this is such an important point, I'm not setting any rules." She motioned for everyone to gather around Barnes and Jones, and everyone made a circle. "Just do me a favour and don't kill each other. May the best man stay win."

Barnes looked at Jones, and lifted his fists to his face.

"Try not to give me a black eye," Barnes told Jones. "The ladies don't like that." He looked at Brooklyn, and gave her a lopsided smile.

"No promises, Barnes," Jones replied. "You've been pissing me off a little lately. I might take all my anger out on you." Jones lifted his fists to cover his face, and the two began circling each other.

Brooklyn watched them intently, trying to pick out weaknesses, but they both weren't making any moves on each other.

"Anytime today," she called, crossing her arms. She tapped her toe on the grass a few times. Nothing happened for a few more seconds, until Jones threw a punch. It was fast, but Barnes dodged to the left, ducking under it, and giving him a hit to his ribs. Brooklyn nodded along to his moves. Jones groaned, but didn't fall. Brooklyn could see the rage starting to appear in his eyes, and she pursed her lips.

"Stay controlled, Jones!" she yelled. "You getting all angry will make you sloppy!" Jones didn't listen to her, because in the next second he threw another punch at Barnes' face. It looked strong, but Barnes saw it coming. It was the exact same move as the one before, and Barnes dodged just as he did last time, and hit Jones in the ribs again.

 _He's leaving himself all open!_ Brooklyn internally screamed. _He would've gotten a knife in him by now!_. Barnes was attacking him now, striking him left and right, too fast for Jones to stop. There was blood coming out of his nose and his mouth. The men around her were howling, yelling at him to get back up and fight. Barnes threw one last punch before turning his body, lifting his leg, and roundhouse kicking him in his face. Brooklyn winced as Jones fell to the ground, groaning.

"Thanks for leaving my face out of it," Barnes grinned, hopping from one foot to the other.

"Good job Barnes," Brooklyn told him as Barnes approached Jones and extending him a hand. Jones took it.

She looked to Jones. He was pinching his bleeding nose. "Jones however, you need to keep your rage in check. You got angry and sloppy. Your moves are too predictable, and you're keeping your body open and susceptible to more damage. Cover the openings. Work on that." He nodded, limping off to the side to sit down. Brooklyn ignored his winces, and turned to the rest of her men.

"That goes for all of you!" She told them. "You stay in control, no one cares about your pride in Europe. In any fight, your opponent will try to rattle you, to make you sloppy, but you keep your mind clear. Everybody understand?" A chorus of 'yes ma'am's ran out throughout her men. "Alright then, who's up next?"

* * *

"You know, you should let me see that report you're writing," Barnes said from behind Brooklyn. She didn't turn to him, but smiled into her papers. She closed the file as he sat across from her, a plate in his hand. He slid it towards her, and she took the sandwich sitting on it into her hands.

"You know I can't do that, Barnes," I told him, taking a bite. He rolled his eyes. She chewed her sandwich, closing her eyes as she savoured the crunchy taste of lettuce and juicy tomatoes, until she looked back at Barnes. He was looking at her with this intuitive look, a soft smile on his face, and for some reason she felt her cheeks redden.

"You're no fun, doll," he told her, smiling. She rolled her eyes.

"I am very fun," she informed him, putting down her sandwich. "But when it comes to Colonel Phillips watching my every move, I tend to be a bit more serious." She chuckled at herself, which led him to smile again. She took another bite of her sandwich.

"I've only seen him once, but he does seem intimidating," he said. She nodded, and swallowed her bite.

"He can be a real softie sometimes, though. I mean, if he let a woman set foot onto base that wasn't a nurse, but an _agent_ of all things, he must be all mushy on the inside." Bucky furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head.

"Well, he made the right choice," he told her. Brooklyn tilted her head, and motioned for him to continue. He combed a hand through his hair. "I mean, you're an amazing agent. You're smart, a good leader, and you don't take anything from any of the other men on this base say about you. You know how to train soldiers, you've done it better than any of the other male agents on this base, whether they want to admit it or not." Brooklyn gaped at him, her eyes wide. She was speechless. Could he actually mean that?

For a few seconds, she didn't say anything. She was trying to process it all. What he said, that was the most heart-warming, nicest thing anyone has ever said to her since she arrived at this camp. She almost didn't believe Barnes, but then again, why would he lie to her? _To get you into bed_ , a small voice whispered in her head, but she quickly discarded that. Barnes knew she wouldn't fall for that, so why even try?

"That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a while," Brooklyn told him, clearing her voice and trying to compose herself. She could feel how hot her cheeks were, and they were fairly hot. She was not impressed with herself.

"It's the truth, doll," Barnes replied. "You do so much at this camp, everyone knows how important you are here. They just never want to admit it to themselves that a dame – erhm –" Barnes spluttered, and Brooklyn grinned. " – A _woman_ – has a bigger role in this camp than they do." Brooklyn was speechless. How was he so open-minded towards letting women do the job? Brooklyn guessed it was because he came from a family with girls that he would understand what they had to go through, and treat them better. That made enough sense to her.

"And don't think I haven't noticed how other agents glare at you with utmost hatred because you can get us to listen to you better than they can get their men to listen to them," Barnes put his elbows on the table, and leaned his face into his hands. Brooklyn dryly chuckled.

"Is it that obvious?" she asked. "I'd think they'd have the decency to at least _try_ to conceal their desire to shoot me." Barnes laughed and shook his head.

"Men talk about you more often than you think," he told her, and his smile dropped a bit. "Though not everything they say about you is bad." Brooklyn's eyebrows furrowed. She didn't find that statement _too_ hard to believe. She knew she was attractive to some extent, not that she would ever admit that aloud. She had the victory curls every woman desired to have, the shiny brown hair, the bright green eyes, the full lips. She wasn't tall, or too skinny, and she had curves and toned muscle. Some women at the camp told her it made her look more like a man than a woman, but that didn't matter to her. She wasn't planning on showing her body to anyone in the near future. She looked up at Barnes, and leaned into her hands.

"Do they now?" she asked, her voice curious. She crossed her legs under the table and leaned her head into her palms.

"Yes ma'am, they do," He nodded. There was a moment where no words were spoken, and Brooklyn looked up from her file to Barnes, opening her mouth slightly to continue the conversation, but she stopped short.

Barnes was already looking at her, a small smile on his face. He didn't seem to be examining her, but she couldn't decipher the look he had in his eyes.

She liked talking to him more than she thought she did before. He felt like a breath of fresh air compared to what she had to deal with and go through on a daily basis. Barnes never in his six and a half weeks of talking with her asked her of anything more than conversation, even though she'd heard stories of him getting more women at this camp than she could count on one hand. He was one of the only men on this camp that didn't cat call her, or talked bad about her behind her back. It was nice to have a friend of the opposite gender that didn't want to get her into bed, from what she knew. She smiled at herself. _A friend,_ she realized. He was her friend.

A few moments later, however, she ruined their moment by bringing her thoughts back to reality, clearing her throat and looking away from his eyes. She was still smiling, though, and so was he. Looking down at her watch, she noticed it was five before one in the afternoon.

"Goodness," she muttered, quickly gathering her files. "We only have a few minutes until you need to be formed up." She stood up, and tucked a curl behind her ear. She stood up from the table and looked to him. "Go get formed up," she told him. "I'll be there soon."

"Right," Barnes cleared his throat, getting up too. "I'll go do that." He turned and began to walk away, putting his hands into his trouser pockets. She began to walk in the other direction.

A little voice in her mind kept tugging at her to stop. _A friend_ , it said. _He's your friend._ Brooklyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath and closed her eyes before calling out his name.

"Barnes!" she called. He turned to her. He was still only a few feet away from her, but he still took a step closer to her. Her pulse was racing.

"Yes, ma'am?" He asked. She quirked a smile at him.

"My friends call me Brooklyn," she said. Barnes grinned so hard she thought the ends of his mouth were going to reach his ears. Before she could let a smile grow on her face, she lifted her index finger at him and opened her mouth to speak again. "But only when it's me and you, call me anything but ma'am when anyone else is with us and I won't hesitate to give you a black eye." If it were even possible, his grin got even wider.

"I'll keep that in mind," he told her. "But only if you call me Bucky." Before she could reply to him, he turned away and starting walking in the opposite direction. She heard him humming the tune to _In the Mood_ as he walked, and the end of her lips tugged up. She loved that song.

As she walked to her office to drop off her files, she couldn't wipe the stupid smile off her face. Actually, she couldn't wipe that smile off her face for the rest of the day.

* * *

 **Leave a nice review!**

 **.writes**


	3. Chapter 2

**Guess who's back from the dead (it's me).**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 **Early Summer, 1942**

 **Camp Lehigh, New Jersey**

As the eighth week came to an end, Brooklyn realized that Bucky was the closest male friend she's ever had, other than her brother and her father. They ate lunch together more than once a week now; they actually ate together more often than not. He told her about his family, about Steve Rogers, and about his life before enlisting in the army.

She half didn't understand why he enlisted. Of course, he was a man with pride; he wanted to protect his country and lead the Axis Alliance to hell, but other than that she really didn't understand his reason. He had a mother, a father, a little sister, and a best friend all with him back at home. He most likely meant the world to them. If he died they would be heartbroken. The country didn't need soldiers now, they weren't drafting, so how come?

Brooklyn didn't question his reasons though. For all she knew they could be personal, intimate, and she was sure that her and Bucky were not close enough friends to be asking those types of questions.

Through the questions she did ask and the conversations they did have, Brooklyn learnt that Bucky had a reputation back in Brooklyn. Apparently he was quite the ladies man. She could understand that; he was quite the looker (not that she would never admit it out loud), and he had a confident and kind personality that women liked. Yet, she didn't see it much around camp. Eleanor, the nurse Bucky talked to, got shipped overseas a short while after they started talking. After her, Brooklyn barely saw Bucky with anyone.

Brooklyn thought him and Eleanor were together, but when she brought up the topic of Eleanor up he shrugged her off and said _she wasn't the one_.

Other conversations they had led to his reputation around Camp Lehigh. He was a very good fighter (not that she didn't already know that), and apparently he used these skills outside training. In the previous weeks, he got into three fights. When Bucky told her about these fights, it took all Brooklyn had in her not to hit him. Was he _insane_? Was he purposely trying to get written warnings and possibly kicked out?

In the end she did end up hitting him. It was a strong punch to the shoulder. She was very pleased to find out that her punch bruised.

Brooklyn also learned that Bucky was a determined person, much more determined than she originally thought he was. He never backed down in any situation until he got what he wanted. His latest display of this quality (which almost earned him a punch in front of all of their troop) was not tapping out of a hand-to-hand session during training.

He got thrown on the ground three times, but each time escaping the pin. He got back up with each hit to the ground. At one point Bucky was on the ground, and she was sure he was going to give up. Most men did at this point. Yet, to her surprised, he used what seemed to be every last ounce of strength left in him to grab the trainer's leg and flip him over on the ground so Bucky sat atop, straddling him. He delivered two swift fake punches to his face, and the fight was declared over with Bucky was winner.

His determination during training made her heart swell with pride. It was an unusual feeling to feel towards one of her soldiers, but she didn't argue with this feeling. It was deserved.

Even before the impressive spar session Bucky won, he was considered one of the top soldiers in the camp. He was skilled in everything, especially shooting. He could hit any target from anywhere. He was even better than her, and she didn't even know that could be possible.

Brooklyn thought that Bucky should stay at Camp Lehigh and specialize in becoming a sniper. It was an extra while on base, but he would be put into specialty groups once overseas and it would overall be better for him. When Brooklyn presented the idea to him, however, Bucky shook his head and replied that he's got to go home.

Her spirits deflated slightly when he told her this.

She didn't really want him to go home. She would never admit it out loud, but it was true. Brooklyn became accustomed to his presence at Camp Lehigh; and him leaving would really changed how she lived her days at this camp.

* * *

Brooklyn stood before her 15 soldiers. Her face was stern, her hands fisted behind her back.

"Congratulations, soldiers," she announced. She was in Agent Kennedy mode, her no-joking-around persona. She looked at each of her soldiers. They all looked confused to a degree. Why was she congratulating them?

She stayed silent for a minute before grinning at them. "You've made it through over two months of training." Her soldiers stayed quiet for a second, staring at her, before erupting into cheers. They clapped their hands, howled, and hugged each other. Brooklyn's grin stayed on her face as she looked at all of the men she'd had the _wonderful_ pleasure of dealing with. She let them cheer on for a few more seconds before calling them to attention.

"No matter how proud of yourself you are right now," Brooklyn started, going back into her serious persona. "You aren't done yet," she told them. "You still have three weeks left to go."

The men audibly groaned, some even rolled their eyes, but didn't say anything. They just eyed Brooklyn, waiting for her to say something.

Brooklyn looked down at her watch. It was the end of their training day, almost dinner. She technically still had ten minutes of training left, but it was Saturday on the night before everyone's day off.

She looked back up to her men. "Go," she told them, ushering them away with her hands. "Enjoy tonight and tomorrow. Monday we start bright and early." All her men ran off without another word.

Brooklyn sighed in content and closed her eyes. Finally her day off came. Each week on Sunday the camp would rest, and that would serve as her day off. Usually she did paperwork, but tomorrow was going to be different. She finally completed enough of her paperwork, so tomorrow she would rest. Maybe even take a run.

A voice interrupted her pleasing thoughts. "Why do you look so happy?" Brooklyn's eyes opened to see Bucky standing in front of her, a soft lopsided smile on his face.

"Because all of you soldiers are gone," Brooklyn replied, closing her eyes again and taking a content breath. She opened them once her calming breath was over and tilted her head to the man before her. "Well, not all of them." Bucky lightly rolled his eyes as he came to stand closer to the agent.

"Would you feel better if I left too?" Brooklyn looked to Bucky, whose bottom lip quivered as he gave her puppy dog eyes. His baby blues shone in the setting sun, and Brooklyn found it very hard to look away from them.

After a moment, she realized Bucky asked her a question, and she snapped out of her daze. "Not really," she replied, straightening out her uniform jacket. "You're fun to talk to."

Brooklyn didn't wait for a response as she started to walk off the general parade square they were on into the direction of her office. She didn't need to turn back to know that Bucky followed her.

"That's nice to know," he told her, catching up to walk next to her. He matched her pace, staying by her side as they walked through the camp.

"Don't act too surprised," Brooklyn countered, a playful tone in her voice. She turned her head to Bucky. "Why would I spend so much of my spare time with you if you weren't fun?" Bucky shrugged and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He looked forward onto the sanded-down pathway they were currently walking down before furrowing his eyebrows and looking back at Brooklyn.

"Wait, are you telling me it's _not_ because of my charming looks?" Bucky asked, his voice incredulous and his eyes teasing. Brooklyn pretended to think, tapping her finger on her chin and furrowing her eyebrows for effect.

"No," she retorted, shaking her head. She tapped her chin once more before facing Bucky. "I don't think that's it." Bucky chuckled.

"You're hurting me, doll." A smile grew on Brooklyn's face. He's been calling her that recently. _Doll_.

"Well then someone's got to shoot your ego down," Brooklyn told him, eyeing him with a smirk on her face as they continued to walk. "Lucky for you I'm a pretty good shot." Bucky gave her a teasing look before lightly laughing.

For the next minute, the two walked in comfortable silence. They passed soldiers doing a multitude of things. Eating, playing soccer, talking with nurses, reading. They paid little attention to her and Bucky and they walked by.

She looked back at the men playing soccer. She had an urge to join them. She really wanted to run, to feel the ball move with her as she ducked past men towards the net.

The last time she'd done anything relatively physically exhausting was three weeks ago, when she taught hand-to-hand. She should start working out again. Agents always had to be in tip-top shape.

Brooklyn's thought continued down the same train of thought until Bucky's voice brought her out of it.

"What's on your mind?" Brooklyn looked to him before looking back forward.

"I was thinking of taking a run tomorrow morning and then going to the gym to fight a bag full of sand," she replied. Brooklyn could practically _feel_ the punching bag hitting her knuckles. Lord, she missed it.

She glanced back to Bucky, who looked like he wanted to say something. Maybe she should invite him? It wouldn't be considered inappropriate for those who saw them, and it _would_ be fun to have him there.

Bucky opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything Brooklyn blurted: "Would you like to join?"

Bucky's mouth closed as a smile grew on his face.

"I thought you'd never ask."

"I don't even fully understand _why_ you want to do PT on the one day you don't actually have to," Brooklyn said, her eyebrows furrowed a bit.

"A run will never do anyone any harm," Bucky replied. His voice turned teasing. "And I'd like to see how fit you really are, Agent Kennedy." Brooklyn smirked as he glanced at her, his eyes sparkling.

"This sounds like the beginning to a competition," Brooklyn smirked. She glanced up at Bucky and met his eyes. "Are you challenging me at something?" Bucky shrugged his shoulders.

"We'll see tomorrow."

"Well, I'm going bright and early," Brooklyn informed him. "I don't want to waste the _whole_ day running around a field. Meet me at the running track at 0600?"

Bucky nodded "Be ready to eat my dust." Brooklyn shook her head, a daring smirk on her face.

"I think I should be saying that to you, mister Barnes," she replied. "I mean, who's the amazingly fit _agent_ here?" Bucky threw his head back in laughter. His right hand flew to his chest, where he grasped it for more effect on how hard he was laughing.

"Your legs are almost half the size of mine," he howled. "I'd be surprised if you even matched my pace." Now it was Brooklyn's turn to laugh. Oh how he underestimated her.

The two slowed down as they arrived at a small building. It looked like a bigger version of the barracks, except with fewer windows. Brooklyn opened the door and stepped in. Bucky stood at the door, unsure if he should enter.

Brooklyn turned back, realizing he wasn't following her, and gave him a look. "Well come on in," she said, ushering him in.

Still unsure if he should be here, Bucky walked close behind her as they passed a few rows of desks. She stopped at one. There were organized piles of papers stacked on one side of the desk and a scatter of pens, small notebooks, and books on the other.

There was nothing personal on this desk, nothing showing it was hers other than a small framed photograph sitting in the corner, almost blocked by the pile of books and papers. Bucky tilted his head as he examined the photo, trying to get a look at it.

He couldn't tell much about it from its angle other than there were six people in the photo. Was it Brooklyn's family?

Through her sorting, Brooklyn noticed Bucky's gaze on the photograph sitting on her desk.

"What're you looking at over there?" she asked, her voice soft. Bucky nearly jumped at her question, averting his eyes from the photograph.

"Uh, nothing," he stuttered. "Just – uh – this your family?" he asked. Brooklyn looked from him to the framed photograph on her desk.

"Yeah," she replied, straightening her back from where she was previously crouched down and coming to stand next to him. She picked up the photograph and rested it in her hands before handing it to him.

"It's ages old," she told him. "It was taken when I was still a teenager, maybe 12 years ago."

They stood with their shoulders pressed together, and she only then realized how small she was compared to him. Even in her heels, her head barely passed his chin.

Brooklyn looked back at the photograph and pointed to the girl on the very right. "That's my sister Anna." The girl was sitting on a stool, her back straight and poised. She had long, dark hair that framed her face and a skinny build.

"She older than you?" Bucky asked. Brooklyn nodded and smiled.

"By three years," Brooklyn replied. "I think she was 17 when this was taken."

The girl had a similar face to Brooklyn's, but Bucky found differences. Brooklyn had a more set jaw, and bigger eyes. Fuller lips too.

Brooklyn pointed a finger to another girl in the photo. She stood next to Anna. She looked younger. "That's me."

Bucky looked from the photo to her. She looked about the same. Her small nose was still the same shape. Her jawline was still prominent, her eyes light. There were some differences, though. The girl in the photo had much longer hair. It cascaded down her back, the light waves framing her face and ending near her elbows. Now it ended just at her shoulders.

"Do I look any different?" Brooklyn took him out of his thoughts. Bucky shook his head.

"Not really," he told her. He looked from the photo to Brooklyn again. "Just older, more mature. And your hair now, it's a lot shorter."

"Long hair went out of style with the coming of the war," Brooklyn told him. "It's supposed to keep it above the collar for factory work, and keeping it long is such a hassle. It's just easier to cut it."

"Isn't it still hard though?" Bucky asked, looking to Brooklyn. "Rebecca always complains about needing to curl it with – oh what are they called…" Bucky stopped short, trying to remember a word.

"Rollers?" Brooklyn guessed. Bucky looked at her nodding.

"That's it," he agreed. "And then she'd go to sleep with cut up pieces of her stockings in her hair and she'd look so ridiculous –"

"They are not ridiculous!" Brooklyn interrupted, laughing. Bucky gave her an incredulous look. She looked up at him, giggling. "I'm serious! Ragging works so well, it always made my hair look amazing."

"Well then you have got to teach Rebecca how to use them because I don't think she knows how to," he told her. He started laughing, and Brooklyn chuckled.

"It's not too hard," Brooklyn told Bucky. "I'm sure she'll learn with time."

"I hope so," Bucky agreed. "Whenever I tell her she needs to fix her hair she just punches me and leaves my arms black and blue." Brooklyn laughed.

"When I was younger I used to do that a lot to my brother," she said.

"Punch him for telling you your hair looked terrible?" Bucky questioned.

"Among other things," Brooklyn replied. "I'd punch him for anything he said against me. I think I even cut up his favourite shirt when we were young." Bucky chuckled.

"That hurts me deep inside," he said, dramatically cringing. Brooklyn nodded in agreement.

"I cringe when I look back at it too," she told him. "I think I was five years old. It was during the earliest depression, and I didn't fully understand how much that cut up shirt cost my parents."

Bucky looked down at the photograph. The boy standing next to the younger Brooklyn was most likely her brother. He was on the very left sitting in a stool, mirroring the position that Anna was in.

"That's him," Brooklyn said, pointing to the same boy Bucky was looking at. "His name is Robert." He didn't look anything like Brooklyn. Instead of a darker shade of hair, it was light. He had a strong build in this photo though he didn't look that old. He looked maybe the same age as Brooklyn did.

"How old is he now?" Bucky asked. The agent furrowed her eyebrows, thinking.

"He's turning 27 this August I'm pretty sure," she answered.

"Older than you?" Bucky asked. The agent nodded. Her eyes didn't lift from the photo.

"By a year," she replied. "He never really acted like it though. He always acted more like his shoe size than his age."

"Is he back at home now?" Bucky asked. Brooklyn shook her head.

"He's overseas right now. Last he wrote to me he was in France." Brooklyn felt her eyes stinging. She silently cursed and looked away from the photograph. She began busying herself with the pens and notebooks on her desk again.

Bucky took the hint that she didn't want to talk about him, and decided that this was enough of a lesson about her family.

He deposited the photograph back onto the desk where he found it and leaned on her desk. They stayed quiet for a minute until Bucky spoke up.

"What are you doing tonight?"

Brooklyn stopped the shuffling of her papers and looked up, an eyebrow raised. She eyed him before answering. "We have a new agent coming tonight from MI6," she told him. Bucky's eyebrows furrowed.

"Do you think he's going to be a problem?" he asked. Brooklyn almost cooed on the inside. He seemed so concerned! Her attention to his concern was quickly side tracked though, and she grinned.

"It's a her." Bucky's face visibly relaxed, and a quirked smile appeared.

"Another woman on base?" He asked, looking at Brooklyn. She eagerly nodded.

"I'm so excited. I'm not going to be the only female agent here." Bucky's quirked smile widened.

"If she's anything like you these soldiers are really in for it."

"If she's anything like me I will cry with joy and then make her my best friend." Bucky laughed as she organized the last pile. She looked down at her watch.

"Come on," she told him, straightening her back and her jacket. "She's arriving in twenty minutes and I've got to meet her."

Brooklyn started walking out of the office, and Bucky followed her.

"What's her name?" He asked as they stepped out the door. Brooklyn thought. She didn't quite remember. All she did remember was her mind blurring everything out and going into overdrive at the words _another female agent is joining this camp_. The name of this agent was blurry in her mind. _Carbon? Carton?_

"Carter," Brooklyn blurted. She thought for another second. "Agent Carter." Yes, that sounded about right to her.

"You seem so excited," Bucky laughed. He was right, she was almost bouncing with excitement. Brooklyn smiled in response to his comment.

"Where are you going now?" Brooklyn asked as they walked down the road. Bucky shrugged.

"To eat I guess," he replied.

"Then we're going to go in different directions." Brooklyn met Bucky's eyes and shone him a smile before turning and walking in the other direction, towards Colonel Phillips' office. She walked a few steps before turning around and meeting Bucky's eyes again.

"Tomorrow, running field at 0600, Bucky," she told him. One side of her mouth quirked up. "Don't forget."

Bucky looked at her. His eyes seemed to soften before he grinned. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

Agent Carter was different than what Brooklyn thought she would be. She was a lot smaller than Brooklyn imagined her being, that's for one.

She was taller than Brooklyn by a little less than half a head. But Brooklyn was short, even in heels. It surprised her that Agent Carter was so tiny when Colonel Phillips described her being serious, strict and scary. With the new agent being this small, Brooklyn was anxious that Agent Carter would be edgy and uptight to make up for the lack of intimidation in height.

"Welcome to Camp Lehigh," Brooklyn said to her after she was initially introduced to herself and Phillips. Brooklyn extended her hand to the MI6 agent. Agent Carter took it and firmly shook it. "I'm Agent Kennedy, the only other female agent here."

"Agent Carter," she replied. Her British accent was enviable. Phillips came up behind her, holding a stack of papers in one hand. He extended the other and she shook it as well.

"Welcome to camp Agent Carter," he said. She nodded in reply to him and picked up her two suitcases.

A car rolled up next to them, and Phillips took seat in the front. Brooklyn and Agent Carter both sat in the back.

As they rode in the car, Phillips turned to the new agent and started explaining to her the main things to know about this training camp. Brooklyn tuned out most of it – she's heard it before. Instead she looked out to the soldiers they passed. They all paused their activities to look at the new agent.

As they passed all the soldiers, Brooklyn felt relief course through her. She wasn't the only female agent at camp anymore. The attention wasn't going to be only on her anymore. Of course she felt bad for the new woman. Agent Carter was going to be getting the brunt of the catcalls and attention, but Brooklyn was thankful that she would be given a break from the constant attention.

Once they arrived at Phillips' office, Agent Carter and Brooklyn stepped out the car and walked alongside Phillips to his desk. Once there, the new agent signed a few papers and got a pack of files. Phillips called the stack of papers _newbie paperwork_.

"Sounds exciting," Agent Carter muttered upon getting the stack. Her sarcastic tone made Brooklyn snicker. Maybe this agent wasn't so bad after all.

After getting everything she needed from Phillips, Agent Carter was off. With a quick salute, the new agent and Brooklyn left his office.

"So," Carter started once she and Brooklyn started walking down the sanded-down road. "How's life here?" Brooklyn looked at the agent.

"It's not too different from training," Brooklyn told her. "Everything with a penis here either wants you to fail or wants you on him. Sometimes a bit of both." The Brit's eyes were wide, astonished at the kind of language Brooklyn used. She thought the Brit was going to be offended by her words, but instead she smiled and started laughing.

"Yes, that doesn't sound too different."

"Just a warning though, the soldiers won't stop their catcalling. Not unless you give them a reason to." The Brit looked at Brooklyn.

"Did you?" she asked. Brooklyn shrugged.

"I like to think I did," she told her. The agent gave her a puzzled look. She elaborated. "On the first day of this batch I punched a recruit who thought he was a hotshot." The Brit nodded in approval.

"That's a good thing to do," she replied. "Did he ever try anything again?"

"He actually did," Brooklyn told her, pursing her lips.

"And did you do anything about it?" The agent asked. Brooklyn grinned.

"I was forced to teach a hand-to-hand class. The same recruit insulted me so when everyone was sparring I went against him and beat him to the ground." The Brit burst out laughing.

"That's gold," she said once she calmed down. "You've got heart; I like you."

"Right back at you, agent," Brooklyn replied.

The two walked in a comfortable silence until they reached the barracks area. The density of men increased, and the catcalls all but exploded.

 _Ooh! Who's this new dame here?_

 _Give us a twirl, sweet thing!_

 _Why don't you come by tonight, honey buns?_

Brooklyn rolled her eyes so hard at the last comment that she thought they got stuck at the back of her head. Who called their girl _honey buns_? It made her cringe.

"The comments don't go away," Brooklyn told the Brit. "It does dies down after a while, though."

"I'm sure I'll teach them to respect me enough for them to completely stop," Agent Carter reassured. "It's not too hard to do what you've done." Brooklyn smiled.

"It's not," she reassured. Brooklyn thought back to the time she punched Hunts. "It's actually quite fun. I hadn't punched anything in a very long time, so I enjoyed it." The Brit giggled.

With a little more walking, the two agents arrived at the female barracks. There were five building, which wasn't that impressive compared to the amount of male barracks. The males had at least 40 buildings, and those were only for the soldiers. There were more if all the staff was counted as well.

There weren't many women at Camp Lehigh, so they all fit into five barracks. There was nothing here that women could really do other than train in becoming a nurse, or in rare cases like Brooklyn and Agent Carter's, come in as agents.

Four of the five barracks were for army nurses in training, while the last one was for more senior residents. Brooklyn lived in the last one. So far only five women lived there: Brooklyn, three senior nurses, and Phillips' assistant. With Agent Carter there were going to be six.

The two agents entered the barrack. Most beds were empty, so the new agent had a lot of beds to choose from. She chose the one across from Brooklyn's.

The Brit opened her suitcases and started laying out clothes and other possessions on the bed. Brooklyn, getting comfortable, threw her heels off and sat on her own bed. She watched as the new agent organized her clothes on her own bed. She eventually threw of her jacket as well, leaving her in her blouse and her skirt.

"Do you have a lot of time to yourself here?" the Brit eventually asked. Brooklyn watched as she opened the wardrobe next to her bed.

"It depends on the week you're in and the batch of men you have," she replied. "Some agents find they have a lot of time and some don't. Paperwork is mainly why we don't, though."

The Brit paused her organizing to look at Brooklyn. "Do you?" Brooklyn shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.

"This batch of men I've barely had any," she informed her. "For the most part I've been almost drowning in paperwork that Colonel Phillips shoved in my face."

"That seems terrible," The Brit told her. Brooklyn shrugged.

"It's busying," she replied. "Takes your mind off all the men dying across the sea."

There was a short but tense silence that encompassed the barrack until Brooklyn spoke up again, trying to break it.

"It still sucks though," she said, puckering her lips and nodding her head. "You get the worst cramps in your wrist – sometimes you think it'll never go away with how much you write." The new agent cracked a smile at this, and a feeling of accomplishment Brooklyn. She made her smile within her first hour here, go her.

"I'm guessing the paperwork still sucks, though," the Brit said as she took an article of clothing and put it on a small shelf in the wardrobe. Brooklyn nodded.

"That's an understatement," she snorted. "But on the bright side, once you've done all the paperwork Phillips throws at you, you have time to do all sorts of stuff." Peggy raised an eyebrow.

"And what kinds of things _can_ you do in this camp?" she asked. Brooklyn thought for a moment.

"I mean," she started. "You can do a lot of PT. There's a pretty good running track here and an indoor gymnasium. When it's too cold to do PT outside we do it in there. The punching bags are pretty durable – it's great." A smile grew on the Brit's face.

"I will keep that in mind," she told Brooklyn. She continued to fold her clothes and Brooklyn lounged on her bed. There were a few minutes of comfortable silence, and Brooklyn found herself dozing off. She almost did until Carter spoke up again.

"Do you have any tips for me?" she asked. Brooklyn opened her eyes and looked at the agent.

"Most of the things you'll learn on your own here," Brooklyn told her. "But I would suggest keeping up with the paperwork and beating some sense into your men." Carter laughed.

"I will happily do the latter." Brooklyn cracked a smile as she closed her eyes again and crossed her arms over her head.

"Oh," Brooklyn started again, her eyes still closed. "And stay away from the pears here. They're hard as rock." This time the Brit burst out laughing.

"I will keep that in mind," she giggled. "So basically do the paperwork on time and keep your men controlled?" Peggy asked. Brooklyn nodded.

"That's the goal."

"Seems easy enough," The Brit said, almost as if to herself.

"When are you getting your first batch of men?" Brooklyn asked. Peggy was silent for a moment, most likely thinking, until she spoke up again.

"I think I'm getting my batch in three days." Brooklyn cracked an eye open and glanced at the agent. She was almost done organizing everything into her wardrobe.

"I wish you luck then," Brooklyn replied. "You'll need it."

"I hope I won't need it too much, though," the new agent prayed. "I don't need bloody knuckles for all twelve weeks of this batch. I feel like Colonel Phillips would have my head." Brooklyn chuckled and shook her head in disagreement.

"He wouldn't, trust me."

"Oh?" The Brit questioned.

"He'll applaud you for 'beating them into soldiers'," Brooklyn informed her. "At least that's what he did to me. In all I wouldn't worry too much over the bloody knuckles."

"I would," the Brit retorted. "Those suckers hurt." Brooklyn chuckled.

"I won't argue with you on that," she told her. She closed her eyes again, before opening them again.

"Hey, Agent Carter?" she called. The new agent turned to her. "Call me Brooklyn. Agent Carter makes me feel like you're one of my cadets."

Brooklyn closed her eyes right after saying this, but she was pretty sure she saw a smile grow on Agent Carter's face.

"Well if I can call you Brooklyn," she started. "You can call me Peggy."

* * *

The next morning, Brooklyn woke up at the very crack of dawn. The other women in the barrack were sleeping, tangled in their sheets and lightly snoring.

Brooklyn tried her best to not wake them up as she slipped on trousers, a t-shirt, and her combat boots. She didn't even bother putting on her makeup on, just messily brushing her fingers through her hair in attempt to make it less frizzy.

In the next few minutes, she was out of the barracks, and lightly jogging down the sandy road to the running track. The roads were practically empty, save a few agents doing work. Brooklyn loved when camp was like this; quiet and peaceful.

She continued jogging down the road, making the small twists and turns to get to the running track. Once she got there, she saw Barnes. He wasn't wearing his tunic, just an off-white t-shirt, his trousers, and his combat boots. His dog tags were out of his shirt, hanging low around his neck.

Brooklyn jogged up to him. He must've heard her because he stopped stretching to look up at her.

"Good morning Brooklyn," he greeted, smiling at her.

"Good morning, Bucky," she replied. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her heart rate down from her slow jog.

"How's the new agent?" Bucky asked, stretching his left arm. Brooklyn followed suit.

"She's amazing," she told him. "She's scary. You won't see much of her. You probably won't even see her at all. She's going to be busy handling soldiers like me. We have the same job."

"What does she look like?" Bucky asked again, starting to stretch his other arm. Brooklyn shrugged lightly.

"Short brown hair, hazel eyes. A very intimidating aura." A smile quirked on Bucky's face.

"She sounds a lot like you," he told her. Brooklyn shrugged. She _did_ have some similarities with her, but a bunch of differences came to mind as well.

"She's taller than I am," she started off. "And I have blue eyes, not hazel. My hair's lighter too." Bucky chuckled.

"Well," he started. He looked Brooklyn in the eyes and smiled. "If she's anything like you, I think I'll like her."

Brooklyn's eyes widened. Did she hear him right? Her stomach exploded in butterflies, and she felt her ears get hot. She must've been so red. Thank god her hair was covering most of her face, or he could've noticed it and this situation would've gotten a _lot_ more embarrassing.

She didn't know how to reply, so she did anything a lady should do at a compliment, she said thank you. When she did though, Bucky shook his head.

"You don't have to say thank you for something that's true," Bucky told her. And there were the butterflies again. She tried not to show her surprise at his comment, and hopefully she succeeded. She's always had a good poker face. She grinned at him in attempt to hide her embarrassment.

"Are you this sweet to all the ladies?" Brooklyn teased. Bucky's eyes met hers, and he stopped stretching.

"Only one," he said. Brooklyn almost choked on her spit, and her eyes went wide. Four words went through her head: _what in the world_. She was probably as red as a tomato right now. Silence stretched between them. She didn't look away from his baby blues, and only then realized how captivating they were. They were bright oceans, with different tones of blue that she could stare into for hours. She had to force herself to look away, and cleared her throat.

"Let's start," she blabbered, quickly turning her back to him. Damn her! In her head, she repeatedly hit herself. She always had to ruin every moment she had with him.

"Yeah," Bucky agreed, clearing this throat too. His voice was lower, huskier? Oh dear.

Brooklyn took off, her hair whipping her shoulders as her feet pounded on the ground. Bucky soon caught up to her, they matched each other's pace, their feet simultaneously hitting the ground as they ran next to each other.

They ran in silence for ten minutes, their feet hitting the ground next to each other. Sometimes Bucky would go off in a sprint, shooting past the agent. She would start to sprint too, quickly passing him before they returned to a jogging pace.

Brooklyn was using this time to think. What in the world was happening between her and Bucky? She was an agent. He was a recruit. It was against the rules; she couldn't be anything more with him than platonic.

Her mind was racing.

What happened to the recruit Barnes who was with a new nurse every week? She knew of his womanizing behaviours – they were one of the main conversations between the nurses here at camp. They would talk for hours about how Bucky talked to him, constantly looked at them, and even kissed one of them.

Now that she thought of him and the other nurses, in the past two weeks she hadn't seen him with even one. He didn't talk to them at all anymore. Had he moved on from them?

She hoped he did, and part of her mind smacked herself for that thought. She wasn't aloud to think like that.

Bucky's voice broke Brooklyn from her trance.

"Can we take a break?" he panted. Brooklyn nodded and stopped running as she heaved, putting her hands on her knees in attempt to ease her breaths. She was so deep in thought she really didn't notice how tired she was from the run.

"Jeez, you can run," Bucky wheezed as he put a hand over his chest. "I've never really seen you in action other than that one hand to hand session."

"You surprised?" Brooklyn asked, stretching her back. She turned her head to Bucky, who shook his head.

"Not in the slightest. I've always known deep inside of me that you're faster than me, no matter how small your legs are," Bucky paused and started opening and closing his mouth repetitively. "And," he eventually started, "probably a better fighter too." Brooklyn chuckled and smiled at the man in front of her.

"Well we can't know that until we spar, Bucky," Brooklyn argued, a playful smile on her face.

"Then let's spar," Bucky said. "I promise I'll go easy on you." He winked at her. A smirk involuntarily grew on her face.

"I'll need more than a simple morning run with you to convince me to spar with you outside training," she told him. Bucky bit his bottom lip, and Brooklyn found herself looking as his tongue went over it.

"Maybe two simple morning runs then?" Brooklyn's eyes shot up back to his, and she felt her cheeks get hot. Did he catch her looking? In attempt to save herself, she shrugged.

"I don't know, Barnes," she teased, looking anywhere but at him. "I might need at least three of these before I even consider it." Bucky chuckled, and she decided to meet his eyes again.

"Good thing then that I'm here for another three weeks." Brooklyn smiled. Three weeks. That wasn't too much.

"Yes," she told him, agreeing, even though she didn't really. Three weeks was practically nothing. "Good thing indeed."

* * *

As soon as Barnes returned to his barrack after his run with Brooklyn, Hunts all but pounced on him.

"Where'd you go this early in the morning, Barnes?" he asked. Bucky barely acknowledged his question, shrugging and walking past him only to stop at his bed.

"Running," he replied as he took his shirt off. His dog tags jingled as they hit his chest, the cold metal feeling refreshing against his hot skin.

Hunts didn't stop his questioning. "With Kennedy?" Bucky, with his back turned to Hunts, stopped his hunt for another shirt for a spilt second and silently cursed. People saw them. No doubt Hunts was going to spread this like a wildfire.

"What's it to you?" Bucky asked, pulling a clean shirt over his head. He turned to Hunts with an eyebrow raised. "Why do you care so much?"

Hunts scoffed. "I don't," he argued. "I just don't understand how you're getting close to a cold fish like her." Bucky felt a wave of something he didn't quite understand go through him. Anger? Annoyance? He couldn't tell. He let out a forced laugh.

"You're acting jealous," Bucky told him as he pulled out his Kelly green tunic. "I'm sorry she doesn't want to talk to an ass like you, Hunts." Hunts' jaw clenched, and he fisted his hands. Bucky started to button his tunic up, ignoring the growing waves of anger rolling off Hunts.

"And so she decided to talk to you?" Hunts scoffed. A crowd of men was starting to form around them.

"Well yeah," he told Hunts. "I'm practically the only man here who respects her." Jones laughed.

"Respect her?" he howled. "I bet you just want to get her in bed."

Barnes clenched his jaw and his hands formed into fists.

"Trust me," he said with a venomous tone. Jones' eyes widened, and so did Hunts'. This is the first time that he spoke with a voice this angry. "If I wanted Kennedy in bed, I would've had her a long time ago."

There was a silence in the barrack. None of the men moved or spoke up, until one did.

"Come on, Hunts," Johnny, one of the few soldiers Bucky actually grew to like, said. "Let it go." Hunts rolled his eyes before loudly striding out the barracks.

* * *

Bucky and Brooklyn ran for a little more than an hour before Bucky left to go back to the barracks. He said he wanted to change and head out for breakfast with the other soldiers, but Brooklyn knew better than to believe him.

When he left, it was around half past seven in the morning, and that was around the time many of the soldiers woke up, even if today was a day of rest. If he stayed any longer a lot of people would've seen them together, and a rumour mill would've started.

It was better if they weren't seen together even more than they already were – people were already talking about what their relationship was. It wasn't reflecting well on her part as an agent.

After Bucky left, Brooklyn moved her fitness session to the indoor gym found on base. She decided it would be a good idea to take out her anger and confusion on the punching bags.

As she walked into the gym, she spotted her favourite bag. It was located on the left side of the gym near the back. That bag had been unofficially labelled hers since she got here, and she missed it. She hadn't used it in a while, but she hoped to make up for all the lost time right now.

According to the clock hanging on the wall above the door to the gym, it was eight in the morning. Brooklyn silently thanked the lord that the gym was empty as she approached the giant bag of sand.

On the wall to her left, she spotted the little cubby that held wrist wraps for sparring. She walked over to it, took a pair, and began wrapping her wrists.

As her fingers fumbled with the long fabric, her mind went back to Bucky.

"What am I doing with him?" she mumbled to herself. She was his agent, his officer. If anything were to happen between them it would be inappropriate, and she could possibly get kicked out of this camp. She was already a woman; she didn't need another reason to add on to why she shouldn't be an agent.

Once her wrists were wrapped, she approached the punching bag again and put her hands against it. Was Bucky even flirting with her? Was he even trying to be anything more than a friend with her? His words filled her mind: " _Only one."_

She delivered a punch to the bag.

Why was she even worrying so much about him? She was acting like a schoolgirl with a crush, and she definitely was _not_ a schoolgirl.

Another punch.

She had to stop whatever feelings she had for him. Even if he were to reciprocate feelings, he could die at war once he was shipped out, and she was _not_ willing to become a war widow.

She delivered three punches to the bag, each harder than the last. Her fingers ached, and her core burned. Spinning, she sent a roundhouse kick to the bag, sending it flying as far as the creaking hinges would let it.

Brooklyn was panting. Damn him. She hated this: all the feelings and the frustration.

She wrapped her hands around the still swaying punching bag, steadying it, and leaned her head against it. Then, taking a deep breath, she stepped away from the bag and lifted her fists to her face. She jumped a little on her toes before going to attack the bag again.

This went on for the better part of a half hour before she was interrupted by the voice of a slightly familiar woman.

"What did that bag do to you?" the woman asked. Brooklyn paused mid-punch, panting, and turned to her new guest. It was Agent Carter – Peggy. Brooklyn smiled slightly at the newcomer and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

"Good morning," she told her, turning back to her target. Her fists lifted themselves to shield her face, and she punched the bag. She put less effort into her punches, deciding instead to pay attention to the new agent. "How did you sleep last night?"

She heard Peggy approach her, her heels clicking on the wooden floor. "Like a baby, thank you." She came to stand a few feet away from Brooklyn, leaning on a beam a few feet to her right. "What about you?"

Brooklyn panted and paused enough to respond. "Well, but I woke up earlier to go on a run."

"Yes," Peggy replied. "I heard." Brooklyn paused her attack on the sandbag and turned to Peggy.

"Did I wake you?" she asked, wiping the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand. Peggy shook her head, and crossed her arms. A sly smile appeared on her face.

"I passed the male barracks this morning while exploring the camp, and I heard a conversation from inside." Brooklyn furrowed her eyebrows and motioned for the Brit to continue.

"Two soldiers seemed to be talking about you. I heard your name. One man was making fun of the other or something like that."

Brooklyn's jaw clenched. "Did you by any chance hear a name in that conversation?"

Peggy pursed her lips and thought for a while. "I think yes, but I can't seem to remember it. Hunter? Hunted? Something along those lines." Brooklyn's jaw clenched even harder and her fingernails dug into her palms.

"Hunts?" she asked. Peggy's face lit up.

"Yes that's it," She replied. Brooklyn's eyes hardened. Peggy noticed. "Who is he to you?"

Brooklyn looked to Peggy. "To me?" she asked, pointing to herself. Peggy nodded, and Brooklyn shook her head. "Nothing. He's one of my soldiers; I train him."

"Was it the second voice in that conversation that means something to you?" Peggy asked. Brooklyn thought for a second. Should she really tell this new agent about her feelings towards her soldier, her _recruit_? She decided not to.

"No to that too," Brooklyn told her. "He's also one of my soldiers, just a little more tolerable than the others. If you ever meet him then you'll find he'll actually treat you with genuine respect."

"That sounds refreshing," Peggy replied. "How much longer is he here for?"

"Three weeks."

"That's good," she told Brooklyn. "There's still time to appreciate his attitude." Brooklyn nodded her head in agreement.

She looked down at her wrapped hands, and then at Peggy's dress uniform.

"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" She asked. Peggy shook her head. "Good. I'm going to go take a quick shower while you change out of that uniform into something more comfy and then we'll go fetch some together. Sound good?"

Peggy smiled at Brooklyn and nodded as Brooklyn began to unravel her wrist wraps.

"That sounds lovely."

* * *

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 **.writes**


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